


Only a Crack

by onward_came_the_meteors



Series: October 2020 Prompts [12]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers Tower, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, One Shot, POV Third Person, Post-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26975656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onward_came_the_meteors/pseuds/onward_came_the_meteors
Summary: Bruce had always known it was risky for him to be an Avenger.He didn't need the reminder.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Clint Barton
Series: October 2020 Prompts [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947679
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	Only a Crack

**Author's Note:**

> Day 12, for the prompt: "broken trust"

It was strange, how the Tower could be an entirely different place in the span of only a few hours.

Early that same morning, everything had been normal; JARVIS’s voice issuing from the ceiling to give the weather, the coffee machine already going in the kitchen, Steve and Thor laughing about something as Natasha texted Clint under the table, Tony’s eyes lighting up when he spotted Bruce and talking animatedly about a possible solution to the problem they’d been working on yesterday, Bruce catching Clint’s eye as he was dragged out of the room and sharing a grin.

Then another catastrophe had happened, and Steve called them all to assemble, and Bruce didn’t even have time to change into baggier pants before they were all boarding the quinjet and flying off to wherever the latest attack was.

And then… well, Bruce didn’t remember much more after that. He’d woken up in a river—just shallow enough for the Hulk to sit and him to stand up—dazed and disoriented and clutching onto the last pieces of what used to be his clothes. The other five had been gathered around him, and he should have known then that something was  _ not right, _ but he’d asked anyway, the question that was always the first thing on his tongue as he came back to himself: “Did I hurt anybody?”

The dead silence that had followed… he never wanted to repeat it again.

It had been Natasha who’d explained, her eyes cutting to Steve, to Tony, to Thor, never once meeting his eyes the entire time. It had been Tony who’d reached out to him, presumably to grip his shoulder, but then remembered the suit and lowered his metal-gloved hand. It had been Thor who’d been full of words, so many words even after Natasha had finished, words that were meant to be reassuring (and Bruce knew he was sincere, he was  _ Thor _ , he meant what he said) but that Bruce couldn’t hear without feeling like he was going to shake out of his skin. It had been Steve who’d finally stood from where they’d all been kneeling in the river mud and said to the middle distance that it was time to get back to the jet.

And it had been Clint who’d put his arm around Bruce and helped him out of the river. He hadn’t let go until they were back on the quinjet and Bruce had pulled on a clean sweatshirt, and even then, he’d stayed by his side the entire flight back.

(Even as Bruce didn’t say a single word, even as he curled himself into the smallest shape he could on the seat, trying to take up the least amount of space possible after ripping out more than his fair share)

Once they’d got back to the Tower… that was when it became an entirely different place.

And now Natasha was gone and Tony was gone and Thor was gone and Steve was gone, and Bruce was left alone to navigate this different place, full of reminders that what they had—what the  _ team  _ had—could be so easily thrown in their faces.

Alone except for Clint, that is.

Clint had refused to go with the others—Bruce had felt guilty at the small starburst of relief in his chest, because  _ why shouldn’t they leave him it was what he deserved didn’t this prove that other people shouldn’t be around him _ —and none of them had argued. Bruce didn’t know whether it was because the team knew about… well. Whether they knew about it, or whether it was because they didn’t trust him to be left alone after what had just happened.

After what he had just done.

Bruce’s fingers were tapping nervously against the armrest of the couch as he stared at nothing in particular, his skin still prickling with the energy from earlier’s transformation. The TV was on, but it might as well have been playing static for all the attention he paid it. He just couldn’t get his brain to sit still.

Clint was a few feet away, perched on top of one of the armchairs with his feet resting on the seat cushion. At least he wasn’t upside down anymore, even if it had been kind of funny to watch Steve’s face the last time he’d walked in on that. Instead, he was scrolling through something on his phone, a faint frown on his face.

Then the insurance commercial finished playing, and the TV returned to its news broadcast.

Where the Avengers were stepping out into what couldn’t be mistaken for anything but a press conference.

Bruce felt his eyes widen and he turned quickly to Clint, who didn’t seem surprised. Come to think of it, Bruce couldn’t remember the reason  _ why _ the others had had to leave the Tower so quickly, but the phrase “damage control” had been tossed around a couple times.

He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume just as the announcer was introducing Tony Stark.

At a second glance, it wasn’t  _ all  _ of the other Avengers on the screen: just Tony and Steve. Bruce had no doubt that Natasha and Thor were there too, but it had been a smart move not to put them front and center. Even after New York, most people still didn’t trust the Black Widow for reasons that varied between her being Russian, her being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and her being an assassin; and Thor… well, no one really knew what to make of Thor.

Tony and Steve, on the other hand… Steve was a beloved national icon, and Tony had been the star of events like these since before he could walk. They would be able to handle it.

The knot in Bruce’s stomach lessened slightly as he watched the two of them settle in front of their microphones. Steve was in his Captain America suit, but obviously a different one than the one he’d been wearing earlier. That one had been ripped and covered in stains and sweat, and this one was as bright and shiny as the freshly polished shield in his hand. In contrast, Tony was in a regular suit, the kind that came with a tie and not repulsor beams, his hair slicked back with gel and his trademark sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

It dawned on Bruce that the sunglasses were probably also to help hide the bruises on Tony’s face where he’d been knocked around inside the Iron Man suit, and he was thinking about that as the conference began, almost missing it.

It started out fairly tame: questions about the purpose of the battle itself (something about an abandoned weapons facility turning out to be not-so-abandoned), about the Avengers team (yes, that was still how they identified themselves), about whether they could expect to see any more disturbances (no, they wouldn’t) and if the Avengers had taken care of the threat (they had). Tony and Steve passed the questions back and forth as easily as if they were relegating battle instructions through the coms. For the beginning, at least, it seemed like things would be okay. Tony and Steve would fix everything and smooth it over, and then Stark Industries would quietly pay for the damage, and—

And then the questions changed. Tony pointed to one reporter, who asked in an overly polite tone whether  _ every  _ member of the Avengers could really be trusted, and then it only grew worse from there.

“Mr Stark, is it true that much of the destruction in the surrounding area was caused by the Hulk and not the battle itself?”

“Can the two of you confirm whether there were any casualties?”

“Captain Rogers, do you have a statement on the actions taken by the Hulk during this fight?”

Over on the chair, Clint’s eyes were flicking back and forth from Bruce to the TV, like he was debating turning it off. Bruce’s grip tightened around the remote.

Onscreen, Tony and Steve shared a glance, before Tony started trying to direct the questions to another topic. The reporters weren’t giving up, however, and most of them started focusing their attention on Steve instead.

At first, Steve seemed to be doing fine, but then he made the mistake of blurting out something along the lines of “Well, all I can say is that the Hulk’s never done anything like this before—"

The screen changed then; Tony and Steve at the press conference sliding away and a reporter against a logo background taking their place.

“This statement by Captain Steve Rogers startles many who believe that this claim is simply not factual,” the reporter said in a calm voice too filled with teeth. “Over the last few years, the creature known as the ‘Hulk,’ while known to many as one of the Avengers team, has been known to cause devastating damage on multiple occasions.”

A video began to play on the screen behind the reporter, and Bruce knew with a sudden awful certainty what it was going to be.

It was made up of clips, some of them taken on shaky phone cameras, some black-and-white security feeds, all of them of destruction. All of them filled with the sounds of screaming, of things breaking and smashing and exploding apart, of  _ roaring. _

“Rio de Janeiro.”

A limp form sent flying through a door as a hunched green shape grew larger by the second—

“Virginia.”

Glass shattering into thousands of pieces as two enormous fists punched through it—

“New York Ci—”

Clint dove sideways across the couch for the remote, but it was too late. Bruce had jumped to his feet, his heart beating out a panicked rhythm and the screaming in his ears deafening. There was a growl from the back of his mind and he tried to clamp down on it, but control slipped through his fingers like water as everything he’d been suppressing since waking up in the river now shot to the surface.

“I—I have to—” Bruce started, and Clint turned in his direction, but by the time he had, Bruce was already gone.

Out of the living room and down the hall and  _ come on, JARVIS, can’t this elevator go faster PLEASE  _ and down another hall and open the door and—

Bruce stumbled inside the room and sank to the floor, pressing his shaking hands to his head. It was fine. It was fine. These walls were reinforced with the strongest material possible; even Thor had had trouble putting a dent in it with Mjolnir. The door would stay locked. If he did change in here, all of the safety measures might even keep him inside.

It was the perfect panic room. Or Hulk-out room, as Tony had lovingly named it.

Either one was appropriate, as Bruce was currently panicking, and when Bruce Banner panicked…

The video was playing over and over in his mind, a constant loop of all the death, all the devastation he’d caused. And today—today was just another incident to add to the list, and how many more would there be? How many more would the others let slide? The rest of the world let slide?

_ Calm down calm down calm down— _

Bruce tried to take a deep breath, but he nearly choked on it as a shudder ran through his body. His hands were pressed against the floor in a valiant attempt to anchor himself on its solid coolness, but the skin was already beginning to bleed green and stretch itself out—

And then someone was there, someone was dashing in through the door and coming down to kneel at his side, someone was putting a hand on his shoulder that Bruce shrugged off instantly because touch was like  _ fire _ right now, and who the hell would be crazy enough to—

Clint took his hand away, but he didn’t move, watching Bruce with an unfathomable look in his wide eyes.

“What are you—” Bruce gasped as another shudder wracked itself through him. “What are you  _ doing  _ in here?”

“It’s okay,” Clint said quickly, and he held up his hands. “It’s okay, shh—”

“No, it’s  _ not _ !” His heart was racing and his breaths were fast, too fast, he needed to stop, he needed to calm down, but he  _ couldn’t do it  _ and every time he looked at Clint all he saw was how frighteningly easy it would be for the Hulk to slam him against the wall of this impenetrable room— “The entire point of a—of a Hulking-out room is so that I can be  _ alone  _ and not  _ hurt anyone  _ and you need to  _ get out— _ ”

The last two words weren’t his when he spoke them—they were deep and growling, almost incoherent, and that was what sent the last of his control spiraling out into the abyss.

Clint reached for him again, and the look in his eyes was  _ concern,  _ of all things, and Bruce jerked away, and then everything exploded green.

* * *

Bruce groaned as he woke up. His body ached, and he was lying against a hard floor, for some reason. That didn’t make sense. Why was he inside?

He opened his eyes, blinking a couple of times, before slowly struggling up into a sitting position against the wall.

Clint was sitting opposite him, and the sight of his teammate’s cautious smile was enough to send the rest of his memories flooding back in and he sat up straight.

“Morning?” Clint offered. Bruce didn’t answer; already scanning Clint for any signs of the injuries he’d feared—and honestly, expected—but found none. He was uncannily… fine.

Except just then Bruce noticed Clint’s right arm being held a little  _ too  _ oddly against his chest, and his eyes went wide.

Clint followed his gaze. “Relax. It’s just my wrist.”

_ You are an  _ archer. Bruce bit back the remark, and what came out instead was a slightly hoarse “I hurt you.”

“Nah.” Clint said it like it was so easy, so obvious. “The big guy just needs a little practice on how to high five.”

“This isn’t  _ funny _ .” Bruce looked again at Clint’s wrist hanging there and pressed his hands back through his hair. “Oh god. Oh god, I did hurt you.”

Clint shifted immediately so that he was leaning closer to Bruce. “Hey, hey, hey, I’m sorry, this is all my fault, okay? Please don’t freak out again.”

_ I’m trying.  _ Bruce took in a deep breath, then another, before turning again toward Clint. “I don’t know if I could change again, to be honest.” Every muscle in his body was throbbing, and his limbs felt like dead weights hanging from his sides to match the two above his eyelids. There was still a shivery feeling tingling over his skin, but he just didn’t have the energy.

Clint nodded, a thoughtful expression coming over his face. “Yeah, you don’t look so hot.”

Bruce didn’t answer and Clint hastily corrected himself. “Not that you don’t always look hot, Banner. Shit. I fucked that up, you know what I mean.”

A startled laugh forced its way out of Bruce’s mouth and he shook his head. “Nice save, Barton.”

"I try.” Clint paused. “So, you might wanna know something. About what happened today?”

Bruce tensed. He barely managed a single nod.

“There weren’t any casualties. Just some damaged property and a couple conspiracy theories. I didn’t want to put on the news again—” and there, his face darkened ever so slightly “—but JARVIS gave me the update.”

It took several moments for the relief to sink in: one for Bruce to make sure he was hearing Clint right, and then more as he spun through every possible way he could’ve misinterpreted his words, or how Clint could’ve gotten bad information (impossible, he’d said he’d gotten it from JARVIS) or how maybe he was still unconscious from transforming and he would wake up any minute to—

But Clint was already talking again, and the sound of his voice was all it took to snap Bruce out of it. “I really am sorry, though. I wanted to help, but I shouldn’t’ve… you obviously didn’t want me there, and I should’ve recognized that—”

“No.” Bruce was hardly aware of saying the word, or of reaching out to place his hand over Clint’s (to a look of surprise that could almost be called shock from the latter), but both of them seemed like the exact  _ right  _ thing to do. “ _ Clint _ . No. I just… I was overwhelmed, and I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

He gave a pointed look to Clint’s broken wrist that Clint entirely ignored.

Instead, he turned over their two hands so that Bruce’s rested on the bottom. “And I didn’t want you to be alone.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. 

A long moment that turned into a minute, and then into multiple minutes.

And then Clint’s mouth twitched, just the slightest bit, and that was all it took for Bruce to start laughing.

Clint joined in, and all the stress and worry and fear and exhaustion of the day melted off of them as the sound of their laughter echoed off the walls of the small room—which, along with its other features, was supposedly soundproof. Bruce even felt tears in his eyes at about the same moment as Clint overbalanced and landed on his shoulder.

This time, Bruce didn’t flinch. “We’re a mess,” he pronounced at last, once he and Clint had both gotten control of themselves.

Clint swiveled his head so that it rested in the hollow between Bruce’s shoulder and his neck as he tilted his face up to him. “You better believe it.”

“Can I…?” Bruce half-lifted his other arm.

“Yes.”

Bruce wrapped his arm around Clint, who reciprocated, and soon enough the two of them had pulled each other into a tight hug. Clint was warm against his skin, and Bruce could feel him shiver at the touch of his hand.

And somehow, the Tower felt safe again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
